


Better Not to Speak of It

by Mielst



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dark Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy-centric, Epistolary, Gen, Hogwarts Library, Hogwarts Sixth Year, M/M, Magical Theory (Harry Potter), Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor Narcissa Black Malfoy/Severus Snape, Minor Pansy Parkinson/Gregory Goyle, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, Slow Burn, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, canon up to the beggining of book 6
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:01:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26713396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mielst/pseuds/Mielst
Summary: Draco has been tasked with killing Dumbledore. He’s ready to do it, to prove himself to the Dark Lord. But Voldemort doesn’t behave as a good leader for the purebloods; as Draco comes to realise that, he thinks: if I can murder one of the greatest wizards of the century, why not kill the other one?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Moaning Myrtle, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy & Theodore Nott, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Gregory Goyle & Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 65





	1. The Package Has Been Delivered

**Author's Note:**

> Updates are going to be sporadic and unreliable. I'm sorry in advance.
> 
> Also, drarry takes a backseat in this one. On the forefront, we have plans of murder and crime.

_“A Cursed Causality: Convenient Curses for Current Commotion”_

_by Caroline Currey, written in 1715_

**The Necklace of a Siren**

[At the top of the page, there is a drawing of a necklace with many oval gemstones. The gemstones are charmed to appear pearlescent on the page of the book.] 

It is said that the Necklace of a Siren is cursed. It kills whoever wears it for too long. However, it is not a curse at work here. 

As it stands, the stones in it are not opals, but polished pebbles that are taken from a nest of a sirin bird. Sirin birds charm their nest pebbles to collect and store magic. Mother birds then sit on the stones, putting their own magical energy in them. This way, their offspring can siphon that magic from the rocks later on. 

I believe the intended effect of the necklace was to augment the powers of the wearer as it does for sirin younglings. Unfortunately, the necklace does not work as intended. Whoever wears it, gets their magical energy sucked from them, as pebbles do from mother birds. This is considered to be the “curse” of the Necklace of a Siren.

The more magical energy the stones accumulate, the faster they siphon said energy. As of today, it is enough to wear the necklace for a month for a magical creature to die. Non-magicals will only last a day. 

The name of the necklace is misleading. Even though sirins and sirens are similar, they are not identical. Sirin’s songs, like the siren’s, can meddle with a mind of another creature. But I will have to mention that sirins do not attract and kill with their songs, as it is often presumed. Mostly they just sing to bring melancholy. So, the necklace does not have anything to do with a siren. 

Many still believe that the necklace does give the power equal to what it has collected, while one wears it. Thus, even though known to be cursed, the Necklace of a Siren is a sought out item by many wizards.

===

Draco closed his copy of _A Cursed Causality_ with a loud _smack!_ He was still waiting for a letter from Borgin, confirming that the package with the necklace was on its way. The old man didn’t even realise what he was selling! Borgin thought it was just some old piece of jewellery, that also occasionally killed people. What an idiot. Draco snorted at the man’s stupidity.

“Darling, your breakfast will not eat itself,” Pansy reached out to Draco and combed a stray piece of hair from his forehead. “I’m not going to wait for you. Try not to be late this time, or McGonagall will give you detention for sure,” Pansy said, standing up, getting ready to leave the Great Hall. 

Stupid Pansy. Didn’t she understand that there were more pressing issues than stuffing himself with food? “I’m still waiting for the letter.”

“Draco, you know all the post for today has been delivered. Just eat and don’t be late,” she frowned, took her bag and left.

Vincent and Greg were also already finished with their breakfast and were only waiting for Draco. Sometimes Draco wondered why they were in Slytherin. They weren’t precisely cunning or ambitious. It was nice to order them around, but more often than not Draco was sick of them tailing after him.

Draco snapped at them. “We don’t even have the same lesson right now, just go!”

Vincent didn’t need another word; he just got up and left. Greg looked after Vince, then turned to Draco with a queasy expression on his face. Take a picture of a crup who saw its masters go away for the day and close the door in front of it, and you wouldn’t find a difference with how Greg looked right now.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, “Just go, Greg. We’ll see each other at herbology,” he muttered. Draco definitely _could_ resist puppy eyes. He could. Maybe that’s why Greg was in Slytherin? Obviously, he knew how to manipulate people, albeit on a surface level.

Greg nodded, although a bit hesitant, and left too. Draco sat at the table, scraping the cover of the book with his teaspoon. He regularly looked at the little windows near the ceiling. No owls came through. Where was the letter? Draco sipped the last of his tea. Grey clouds loomed on the charmed ceiling. Still no owls. If Draco waited any longer, he would definitely get detention. And he had better things to do than writing lines with McGonagall. Without eating anything, he stood up, collected his things and went to transfiguration.

***

Lessons completely went over Draco’s head; he was thinking about the letter. If it didn’t arrive soon... Draco threw that way of thinking to the back of his head. 

He was going up to the seventh floor with Vince and Greg. At least his idea with polyjuice was working. So far, no one has tried to go into the Room of Hidden Things after him. Draco’s cronies may be a bit slow, but they were the best at following orders, even when those orders required them to turn into first-year girls.

Greg and Vince were in position. Draco chanted in his head: _I need a room to hide things_ while walking back and forth along the wall three times. The door appeared, and Draco was gone. Soon after, so was the door.

Columns of random trinkets stretched into infinity above. It was unnerving, being in such a vast place. Feeling so small. All that _stuff_ , towering above him. Threatening to consume him, make him a part of the room. Draco made a beeline to the vanishing cabinet and started with reviewing his runework.

Minutes turned into hours, and Draco was nowhere closer to finding a way to fix the damn thing. Honestly, doing this every day tired him out immensely. The parchments with ancient runes Borgin sent to him on how to fix the cabinet were old and tattered. Draco had to redraw all the runes on a clean parchment. More than that, most of the runes were unintelligible and lacked some strokes in them. So not only the cabinet needed fixing, but the vague instructions needed fixing as well. The work he had to do was piling up. Maybe all those tasks would become another tower in this bloody room.

It was getting dark. The windows in the room weren’t properly visible, but Draco figured the atmosphere in the room was charmed to resemble whatever’s outside, like the ceiling in the Great Hall. He took out a pocket watch - a present from his parents, with the Draco constellation carved inside - and it was already half-past seven. Greg and Vince would be upset if they missed dinner. A grumble from Draco’s stomach made him realise that he was hungry as well. With a sigh, he stood up and went to the Great Hall.

Every day was much of the same: wait for the owl, attend lessons, fix the cabinet, repeat. Although there was _some_ stability in the routine, Draco became more irritated as the days went by. He _needed_ the confirmation. He had to know that the necklace is where it’s supposed to be. He couldn’t fail the Dark Lord.

On one awful morning, Potter had jinxed his arm to grow daisies in retaliation for Draco admonishing Weasel for his poor taste in clothing (You can’t blame Draco for pointing out those awful Weasley trademark sweaters!). Why even- _daisies!_ What the Golden Boy was thinking was a mystery never to be solved. So, Draco sat at the Slytherin table, his left arm covered in flowers, and he couldn’t even roll up the sleeve because of the dark mark. The flowers threatened to rip the shirt. He tried to smash those weeds into submission with his right arm.

“Draco, you’re… Blooming,” Pansy gaped at his arm. 

He shook the arm, and some of the flowers fell off. Right in his teacup. Great.

“Oi, Draco, since when did you become a garden?” Asked Nott with a slight smile.

“I am _not_ a garden!”

“We should… put you in a _pot_ ,” Pansy said as she started giggling.

“No- I can’t believe you would- Not a pot!” Draco protested. “Your puns are the worst, Pansy,” He hissed. Pansy was laughing without restraint now. Greg also started smiling. Draco huffed, narrowing eyes at his friends.

Nott reached over the table and waved his wand above Draco’s arm in some complicated gestures, murmuring something. When he was done, the flowers were dry and quickly fell off Draco’s skin. He shook the dry leaves and petals out of his sleeve. Now that was taken care of, Draco made sure his mark was fully covered.

“Not bad, Nott,” Draco examined his arm, free of flowers. He couldn’t resist looking at Potter. Hopefully, he could see his upset face at the jinx thwarted. He caught Potter’s gaze and smirked smugly. 

“Yeah, thanks for being my test subject,” Nott said. But Draco wasn’t paying attention. “I’m practising spells-” Potter was still glaring at him, so he had to win the staring contest. “ -for my ancient studies,” Granger distracted the Boy-Wonder, so Potter looked away. Draco raised his chin, he won! He turned to his breakfast, vanishing the dead daisies from his plate. 

Pansy finally calmed down with her laughter. She turned to Nott, “Right, ancient studies! How are they going? I heard only four people applied?” Draco listened to his fellow Slytherins’ banter half-heartedly. He felt much less irritated after a small victory. He was even able to stomach a croissant this morning. Things were looking up.

Or maybe not. Next day, when the post arrived, Draco was looking furtively for an owl from Borgin. Instead, a great horned owl swished past charmed darkening clouds and landed in front of him. Draco blanched. It was from the Manor. 

He snatched the letter from sharp claws. The owl left with a hoot. Whatever this letter was, it couldn't be anything good. For so long, he’s been receiving news from Severus. Why, and more importantly, _who_ sent this letter? Lightning rumbled through the clouds overhead, many students looking up in awe. But Draco was looking down. 

===

Draco,

You are to come to the Manor next weekend. He wants a report. You are also invited to a little party on Saturday. Use Snape’s floo. He will give you a permission slip to join us here instead of visiting those stupid little shops in your stupid little Hogsmeade. 

Bx

p.s. 

Cissy is driving me crazy with her whining about how she misses you. Be a good boy, and calm her down once you’re here.

===

Draco was white as a sheet. Next weekend. The first Hogsmeade weekend. And he was summoned. Too soon. He didn’t have much to report. And wasn’t Severus making reports anyways? Of course, Draco didn’t tell the potions professor the details of his plan, only the basics. But why would he? If it didn’t work, he could simply deny everything. Draco took a few slow breaths and excused himself from the table.

He guessed he should be grateful that he was given a heads-up. The letter also confirmed his suspicions that Narcissa probably wasn’t allowed to write to him. Even though conveyed in aunt Bella’s scratchy writing, it was… nice to know mother misses him. Merlin knows he misses her too. 

As Draco went down to the dungeons, the air became colder. He shivered. Today was Sunday. He only had a week to see everything set in place. And he had to make at least some progress on the cabinet. He could do this. It was going to work out. He would prove his worth to the Dark Lord. 

Draco whispered a password and entered the Slytherin common room. In the now-empty corridor, a rustle could be heard. Then - muffled footsteps, seemingly walking away from the dungeons.

***

Harry walked back to the Great Hall, and before entering, hid behind the bannister to take off his invisibility cloak. He strode towards the Gryffindor table and plopped himself next to Hermione, who was reading a book. On the opposite side of the table, Ron was enthusiastically telling Ginny something. But Harry’s thoughts were far away. What could make Malfoy so scared? The Slytherin hasn’t even had any post before today during the school year. His mummy probably too busy being a Death Eater to send him letters. _Was_ that letter from his mum? No, she would probably send Malfoy sweets with-

“HARRY!” Ron was waving his fork in front of Harry. “Were you even listening?” Apparently, Ron was telling him something.

Harry sighed, “Sorry, mate, just a lot on my mind.”

“You don’t say. Ran away in the middle of the breakfast,” Ron huffed, “Didn’t listen to my amazing quidditch strategies- Ouch!” Ron jumped up in his seat, now glaring at Hermione. She raised her eyebrows meaningfully and turned back to her book. “ _Right_ ,” Ron looked at Harry again and sighed. “So, what’s on your mind? And don’t say-”

“Malfoy,” Harry and Ron said in unison. Ron groaned, mumbling _not again._ But Ron just didn’t understand. Harry was getting tired of explaining himself, but if that’s what it took to help his friends see the truth, well. Harry had little choice _but_ explain.

“He’s definitely planning something! Did you see his face just now, with the letter? It must be something serious. He was scared. Granted, he’s easy to scare, but still.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said, not even looking up from her reading, “Receiving post is normal. That doesn’t mean he’s planning anything.”

“I’d say what he should be planning-” Ron smirked, “His revenge against Harry’s jinx yesterday!” Hermione frowned, “You should try some other spell from that book, Harry, he won’t know what hit him!” 

“And _I’d_ say, Harry should _not_ be using this book. We don’t know who’s written those spells; it could be dangerous!” Hermione stared Ron down.

“Yeah, dangerous for Malfoy,” drawled Ron. Harry wanted to say that daisies weren’t dangerous for anyone, but then again, what if they were? Nah, those were just flowers. 

“Ron’s right, you know. Prince just liked pranks. It’s nothing to be worried about,” Harry put his hand on Hermione’s shoulder, but she jerked away from him. Hm, maybe daisies were dangerous if you were allergic to them? Was Malfoy allergic to daisies? He didn’t seem to be.

Hermione muttered something that sounded like _boys_ and turned back to her book. Harry shrugged at Ron, and Ron rolled his eyes.

“So, anyway, quidditch!” Ron continued his monologue about the best broom manoeuvres. Harry tried to listen, really. But his mind’s recent resident, Malfoy, demanded more attention.

***

Charmed skies in the Great Hall were bright and clear that morning, although the wind was rising. Draco yawned. Spending his days cooped up in the Room of Requirement wasn’t the best choice. An even worse option was to disregard sleep and use nighttime to decipher the damn runes. After working so much, his brain needed sugar. Draco plopped four teaspoons of it in his tea. Pansy scrunched up her nose at such a display. 

Drinking the brew that strongly resembled syrup, Draco looked up, searching for owls. A bunch of them flew in. To his astonishment, one owl flew to him. It didn’t even land, just threw a small note near his plate.

===

8th of October

Dear Mr Malfoy,

The package has been delivered.

Yours sincerely,

Mr Borgin

===

Having read the letter, Draco nodded to himself and muttered _incendio_. Now he only needed to wait till the weekend. Hopefully, this will prove sufficient enough for his report to the Dark Lord.

***

The Malfoy Manor was an intimidating presence this time of year. All nature was slowly dying, preparing for winter - and here stood the Manor, proud and overbearing, daring nature to die while it stood never changing. Even while acting as a host for Death Eaters, the Manor didn’t allow that death to touch her. It was getting dark earlier and earlier as winter was closing in. Draco stood in the garden, looking at his ancestral home, drinking in the lights coming from the windows. It was a little windy outside, but Draco felt that wind piercing through him, and only Manor’s lights filled him with warmth.

He saw a silhouette appear - a shape of darkness in the lights of french doors. It was approaching him, the light becoming apparent once again. The figure was now as dark as the greenery in the garden. Draco stood silently, waiting. He tried to follow the person with his gaze, but attempts were futile. He could only stand and wait, his silhouette just as dark. His mother’s roses smelled like his childhood walks in the garden. He remembered how he used to chase peacocks around; his father was reprimanding him for it. But of course, his father was in prison. And Draco hasn’t seen his mother yet. He was told that she was away on a mission for the Dark Lord.

“My dearest nephew,” The figure turned out to be Bellatrix. Her hair was unattended for, it formed a weird shape where her head was supposed to be. Draco always thought his aunt Bella was uncouth, since the moment he first saw her, just out of Azkaban. Mother’s hair always looked impeccable in comparison. But still, he had to listen to his aunt. Obey her, even. The name Malfoy wasn’t held in the same regard as Lestrange’s in the Death Eater ranks. “Cissy is here. Don’t make me look for you again,” she snarled. “I’m not a messenger. Follow me, quickly,” She made a sharp turn and was walking back towards the Manor. With little choice, Draco strode after her.

The lights of the estate now illuminated him and his aunt. They stopped being shapes in the shadows; they were now people. People were supposed to have meaning. At least, Draco thought so. A person without meaning was a waste of space. And Draco’s meaning - his purpose - was to assure his family’s standing in the eyes of the Dark Lord. 

As they entered the conservatory, the doors on the opposite side of the room opened as well. His mother was standing there, her lips pursed in a tight smile, a hood over her head. “My son,” she said, stepping into the room. It took all of Draco’s self-control to not run towards her. He tried to keep his gait not too fast and not too slow as he approached her. Narcissa held open her arms, and Draco embraced her for a few precious seconds. Only in that short moment he first realised since he arrived: _oh, I’m home_.

As they disentangled from each other, Draco noticed the blueish, green hues in his mother’s skin. She looked unwell. It became even more apparent as she took off her hood, warm lights from the chandelier washing over her face. Narcissa’s complexion looked like death, but her blue eyes twinkled, lively and full of love. Oh, Draco missed her so much.

Bellatrix made herself comfortable on one of the sofas, watching them with wide eyes. As if trying to see through them, get every detail. She motioned for them to sit on the sofa in front of her. “Well, Draco, I believe I promised you a party?” Aunt Bella asked while they sat down. Her eyes were still uncannily wide, now accompanied by a smile. This combination didn’t sit well with Draco.

“You wrote so in your letter, yes.”

“Tell him, Cissy. Tell him what we’re going to do,” Bellatrix was clearly amused. His mother turned to him, her blonde curls falling gently around her face. 

“We’ll be going out to muggle London tonight,” her tone was the same as when she lectured Draco about good manners. “The Dark Lord wants some… _things_ delivered to him. We will use the floo to the Leaky Cauldron and apparate from there. You cannot use your wand; it is tracked by the Ministry since you are still a minor. You will use your father’s.” She took out a wand from her robes and handed it to Draco. It felt cold in his hands. His father must be just as cold, alone, in a cell in the middle of the sea. He tried to cast a _lumos_ with it. The tip of the wand flickered with a dim light. He cast again, this time the light was brighter, and the wand seemed to become a bit warmer.

Bellatrix nodded with satisfaction. “Well then, up, up! We - what was it you called it, Cissy? Ah, right! - We have _deliveries_ to make!” She beckoned them to follow her to the drawing room.

Through green flames, and a tug of apparition, they have arrived in an alley. Near them was a building with strobing lights all around the main door. A line of people was standing in front of it, a bulky man guarding the entrance. Flaring lights of different colours surprised Draco. Surely, something like that couldn’t be achieved without charms. Weren’t they supposed to be in a muggle part of the city? His confusion was thrown away as Bellatrix grabbed his upper arm.

“Nephew, listen closely,” she hissed near his ear. “Look at these muggles, swarming the place like ants. We’re here to take some of them home,” Draco tensed. It wasn’t _her_ home; it was _his_. “For the Dark Lord’s entertainment,” He knew what this _entertainment_ was. He had heard the screams. They had been louder than thunder on stormy summer nights.

Draco nodded, stepping away from his aunt. “So, do we go _in_?” Being so close to those filthy muggles? He would be sick.

“Bella and I will, but you will stay behind and see if you can catch any drunks in side alleys,” his mother didn’t seem thrilled at the prospect of mingling with muggles either. “Best to use imperius on them. That way, we don’t need to drag the bodies or levitate them. Better not to draw attention,” she put her hood back on. Draco nodded again.

As Bellatrix and Narcissa made their way to the burly guard, Draco stalked around the building. He was familiar with the imperius curse. After all, a large part of his plan to - oh, well, no other way to put it - _murder_ Dumbledore relied on it. Murder. Draco guessed that tomorrow he would become _a murderer_. The moment Dumbledore touches that necklace, Draco will become branded. He saw the word “murderer” etched across his forehead. He saw himself in the corridors of Hogwarts, and everyone knew. They knew what he’d done. No, wait. That’s not right. He was already branded. He was a _Death Eater_ , and he _would_ eat that death. He would be celebrated. At least by those who mattered. The Dark Lord would be extremely pleased. Yes, now that’s more like it. So what if he murders some old man? It’s for the best that Dumbledore dies. Really, Draco was doing everyone a favour by killing him. The old geezer was mad anyways. What kind of a headmaster was he? Always playing favourites with those Gryffindors, with _Potter_. Draco smirked. _Not anymore_ , he thought.

As he turned another corner, Draco knew he struck gold. Two muggles! So entranced in their snogging session that they didn’t even notice Draco. He only needed to get a bit closer, for a proper aim, and use imperius on them. 

===

_“A Cursed Causality: Convenient Curses for Current Commotion”_

_by Caroline Currey, written in 1715_

**The Imperius Curse**

Imperius is a very useful curse, indeed. Not only it surrenders the will of the victim to the caster, but it also gives the victim additional abilities they would need to perform tasks. Of course, this curse is very frowned upon. But in a situation of distress, it could save a life. 

To cast this curse, one needs to say “Imperio” while pointing their wand at the victim. The curse is ancient, so there is no need for extra wand movements. Due to its simplicity, imperius can be cast without a wand at all. But it will require a willing victim, eye contact and at least some practice with wandless spellcasting.

To increase the likelihood of a successful casting on an unwilling victim, curse them when they are tired, or their mind is addled. For this use, imperius usually goes hand in hand with legilimency.

Imperius can be resisted. Either by extensive occlumency barriers or by the sheer force of will. Occlumency is a more reliable option. The force of will, like our moods, can vary from day to day, so I do not advise the reader to test it.

The recently established Ministry of Magic is looking into ways to make the imperius curse illegal. But as the title of the book says, “for current commotion” this spell is certainly an indispensable asset. It is my belief that the reader would not abuse this spell and only use it in self-defence or for augmenting magical powers of a friend.

===

Madam Rosmerta’s face flashed in Draco’s mind. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Then, as she turned back to normal - as normal as one can be under an unforgivable curse - she smiled at him. The eyes that were completely white just a moment ago were now filled with so much trust and loyalty. Draco thought she’d grow a tail and start wagging it. No, now is not a time for reminiscence! He focused on his targets again.

He came a bit closer, still staying in the shadows. The sounds of smacking lips and stifled moans reached him. Draco blushed. But those were muggles! What was there to blush about? They were filthy and... And the bloke’s arm stretched just so, as he crowded in on a girl. He was wearing a tight turtleneck (not something Draco considered fashionable, mind you, but-) which, he had to admit, accentuated the curves and muscles quite well. The bloke traced his hand through the girl’s long hair. As he reached the ends, he curled his arm around her waist, getting a sound of approval from her. What would that hand feel like if it were wrapped around Draco? The hand went lower and started to unbutton the girl’s jeans. Draco was startled from his reverie (reverie? No, that word was most inappropriate in this situation), and brandished his - father’s - wand.

“ _Imperio_ ,” he almost whispered, training the wand on the young man. He turned to the girl. “ _Imperio_.” 

They stood in place and only turned their heads to him. They smiled, and it looked so genuine. Draco looked at the bloke, mesmerised. He cleared his throat. 

“Follow me. And, um, make yourselves look presentable?” The young man combed his hair, and the girl buttoned up her jeans. Draco led them to the place his mother chose for apparition. Neither Bellatrix nor Narcissa were back. So, Draco told the muggles to wait there and went to look for more. 

He made some different turns from his first detour. Draco found himself going through an arch to some side street. There were much fewer lights here. Some lanterns flickered, the only sound in an eerily silent stretch of houses. Draco contemplated for a moment going into someone’s house and leading the whole family out. But then, what if they have children? Those days when the Dark Lord practised his cruciatus on children were the worst. And then that werewolf, Greyback, would come to the basement. The screams _then_ … They were a frequent guest in Draco’s nightmares.

The lantern right next to Draco went out, and he flinched, the dark around only fueling his depressing thoughts. As he looked up, the lantern came back to life. Draco sighed and decided to look elsewhere. But before he could take a step, there was a prickling on the back of his neck, a painful one. He swatted his hand behind his head, thinking it was some wasp with a death wish. But as he did so, he felt more and more sluggish. The flicking lanterns swam out of view. His legs seemed wobbly. He sat down - plopped, rather - and the lights were so beautiful. Draco didn’t think he has ever seen something as- as _ethereal_ ever before. He felt as if wrapped in a soft duvet, or ensconced in a warm bath. Everything felt perfect. The only thing Draco wanted now was to _sleep_. Not even a fiendfyre would make him leave. Or even get up. Or open his eyes. 

===

_some website for a pharmaceutical register_

**Morphine**

Pharmacological action: analgesic (opioid).

Stimulates mu-, delta- and kappa-subspecies of opioid receptors. It inhibits the interneuronal transmission of pain impulses in the central part of the afferent pathway, reduces the emotional assessment of pain, the reaction to it, causes euphoria (the mood rises, there is a feeling of mental comfort, complacency and bright prospects, regardless of the real state of affairs), which contributes to the formation of dependence (mental and physical). In high doses, it shows sedative activity, inhibits the respiratory, cough and, as a rule, the vomiting centres; excites the centres of the oculomotor (miosis) and vagus (bradycardia) nerves. May stimulate the chemoreceptors of the vomiting centre trigger zone and cause nausea and vomiting.

It is rapidly absorbed into the blood by any route of administration (inside, s / c and i / m). It is metabolised, forming mainly glucuronides and sulfates. It is excreted by the kidneys. Small amounts are excreted by all exocrine glands. The analgesic effect develops within 5-15 minutes after subcutaneous administration and intramuscular injection, after ingestion - after 20-30 minutes and usually lasts 4-5 hours.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little theatre:
> 
> Draco: I'm a menacing dark wizard!  
> Harry: Those daisies look good on you ;)


	2. A Calm Before the Storm

“ _Rennervate_!”

Draco stirred, but still felt so sleepy. He didn’t want to move. Someone was shaking his shoulder. What a nuisance. The lids on his eyes were heavy, but he managed to open them. His mother was crouching in front of him. Draco found himself slouched against a brick wall. He was cold and he wanted the warmth to come back.

“Draco, what happened to you?” Narcissa asked in a hushed voice. She cupped his cheek. As Draco leaned into the touch, he could only think: _warmth_.

“Where are we?”

“Still in muggle London. Draco, what happened? There was a muggle ruffling in your things,” the boy's eyes swerved to a body splayed on the ground behind her. “I was so worried, you didn’t move! It’s like you were stupefied,” mother was caressing his cheek.

“No, I… I think I was stung by a wasp?” Draco made to stand up. Narcissa held his arms, steadying him. The sky was still dark. He touched the back of his neck. There wasn’t any swelling as there usually is after a sting. Weird. “It stung me in the neck. Have a look?” He turned his back to Narcissa.

“There is only a small bruise here, dear,” she touched the tip of her wand to his neck. “ _Episkey_. All good,” Narcissa turned Draco back to face her. “But why did you fall unconscious?”

That was a good question. How long was he out anyways? Draco searched for his pocket watch. 

“Where?..” No, no. He couldn’t have lost it. In the back pocket? No. He took out his wand. “ _Accio_ pocket watch!” His watch flew out from the hands of the muggle. Ugh. Did the muggle try to rob him?

“Draco? Are you confounded as well? I asked you a question. Why were you unconscious?”

“I don’t know. I felt this _sting_ and then fell asleep,” What was going on? He got stung, but instead of swelling, there was just a small bruise. He didn’t even feel that much pain when it happened. Draco went over to the muggle. He wanted to look for any other things the man might have stolen from him. Narcissa went over as well. She put a hand in front of Draco, stopping him from moving further.

“ _Rennervate_ ,” she cast on the man. He opened his eyes with a start. When the muggle saw Draco and his mother, he scrambled to run. “No, you don’t. _Colloshoo_ ,” The muggle’s shoes stuck to the ground. “Draco, why don’t you practice your spells? Interrogate him,” Narcissa looked at the man with disdain, her chin raised high.

Draco raised his wand. “ _Imperio_ ,” yes, there were the faithful eyes. “Take out any things that you stole from me,” the muggle took out Draco’s emerald cufflinks and a silver chain bracelet. Draco quickly got his things back. 

It was still hard to comprehend the situation. A _muggle_ stole from him! And in front of his mother! If shame was rain, Draco would be all soaked by now. He scowled. 

“Speak only the truth. Did you see how I fell unconscious?”

“Yes.”

How concise. Do muggles even know how to speak? “What happened to me?”

“I injected you with morphine. It put you to sleep. You look like a rich kid, figured you wouldn’t mind if I took some of your things.”

Wouldn’t mind?! Oh, Draco did mind. He wanted to punch this arrogant prick! But the prick wasn’t arrogant, at least now. He looked at Draco like he was his best friend. Ugh, Draco couldn’t punch someone looking like that. He did admit - if only to himself - that he was truly weak for puppy eyes. Draco took a deep breath. Focus. 

“What do you mean, “injected”? What is morphine?”

“I used this syringe for injection,” he took out a small transparent tube. At one of the ends, it had a needle, covered with a plastic cap. “Morphine is a drug that removes pain and helps people sleep.” The man beamed like it was the happiest news. 

A drug, huh. Well, no muggle drugs were a hazard to wizards. What Draco wanted was to examine this see-reenge. What kind of a muggle weapon was that? But his mother’s voice snapped him out from his thoughts.

“You drugged my son?” she hissed. “You dare?!” Narcissa whipped out her wand. “ _Crucio_!”

Suddenly, it was a summer night again. Draco sat huddled on his bed. How could he sleep? The howling woes reverberated from the basement and through the whole house. Sometimes Draco thought it was the Manor screaming. Screaming at the Malfoys that were left, asking them why they allow atrocities to happen in their home.

The muggle screamed and screamed as if his ribcage was being torn open. He fell awkwardly, his feet were still plastered to the ground. Draco thought that an eternity has passed, surrounded by the loud cry. But in reality, not even a minute went by. The limp figure laid on the ground, making weird sounds: sobs and “sorry”s. Under the light of the lampposts, he was a bundle of blacks and oranges, not even resembling a person.

“Let’s go, Draco,” Narcissa had a tight hold on his shoulder. He looked at her. For a second, a short moment, the one clutching his shoulder was Bellatrix. But the image was gone as quickly as it appeared. And Draco saw that it was his mother all along.

“Yes, mother,” And they apparated away.

After he and mother came back, aunt Bella congratulated him on bringing two muggles. Draco even felt a little proud. Narcissa and Bellatrix went to sort through the captives, and he went to his room. He did it! He actually captured muggles! Surely, now the Dark Lord will be more lenient with time constrictions on Draco’s bigger task. The necklace is going to be brought into school tomorrow. It was going to work. He just needed more time for the cabinet.

As he closed the door to his room, he heard a shriek. Draco learned to recognise it as Bellatrix’s laugh. Soon, the shriek was joined by a choir of cries. His mother was with her, down in the basement. Draco remembered her face in that muggle alley. Remembered her shouting _crucio_ without a flinch or a second thought. He sat on his bed. It was a summer night again.

***

Sunday morning greeted Hogwarts with light grey skies. Harry looked out of his dormitory’s window. The skies were white, _white as a clean piece of paper._ Harry wasn’t sure why, but Hermione liked to say that now. White as a clean piece of paper. About skies. She’d say that, and then sigh dreamily. Harry liked that phrase. Autumn marked a start of the school year, and a clean piece of paper - autumn skies - gave him the freedom to try and start something new. Although it seemed that all his new starts only led him to maniacal mass murderers.

The trip to Hogsmeade wasn’t very fun. Most shops were closed. Just another reminder of the Death Eater attacks. Everything was empty. Each closed establishment Harry and his friends passed only increased the disconnected atmosphere. Harry remembered the shops glowing with warm lights, beckoning students to buy sweets, toys and whatnot. After wandering here and there, the group settled in the Three Broomsticks. The day was just unlucky all around. Harry had the misfortune - or maybe fortune, really - to stumble into Mundungus. As it turns out, he’s been nicking Sirius’ stuff from the Grimmauld Place! Now not only the streets were empty, but the last place Sirius stayed at was empty too. 

The weather was getting worse, the wind was rising. Harry, Ron and Hermione put on their cloaks and set off back to the warmth of the Gryffindor common room. Little ways ahead of them were Katie Bell and her friend. They were arguing about something - aha! Harry wasn’t the only one who had garbage of a day. The wind was coming in stronger strides. Harry tightened his scarf. Girls’ argument was becoming more shrill. Katie’s friend, Leanne, tried to grab something in Katie’s hands. But as they fought, Katie dropped the package she was carrying.

Next moment, Katie rose towards the sky. She didn’t manage to fly far. Her arms were outstretched as if welcoming something. Her face was so calm, even as strands of her hair swatted all around, a strong wind tangling them. The sky was white, and her form against the whiteness was like a beginning of a colourful painting. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Leanne had all halted in their tracks, watching.

There is always a calm before a storm. Katie started to scream. A morbid scream, as if she lost a part of herself and didn’t know how to exist anymore. The colourful painting Harry started to see was shredded into a million pieces. Only terror remained.

Harry wouldn’t forget that scream for a long time. After Katie fell to the ground, Hagrid carried her to the castle. The trio tried to calm Leanne down, she was in quite a shock. Of course, she would be, seeing her friend like that. It was like the Department of Mysteries. Harry had watched his friends get hurt there, and even- even die. He looked at the ground, while Hermione hugged Leanne.

As they learned a bit later, Katie was affected by whatever was in the package. It turned out to be a necklace. And of course! Harry saw that necklace before! At Borgin & Burkes, with a label saying it was cursed. That must be what Malfoy bought in there! But why would he target Katie? Sure, she was a part of Dumbledore’s Army, but she was a pureblood. Albeit, not from a wealthy family like Malfoys, but still. There must have been a reason for her to carry the package.

Harry told McGonagall as much. Malfoy for sure was responsible. He _has_ been acting all shifty recently. But McGonagall told him off, saying that Malfoy was at the Manor this weekend and wasn’t in Hogsmeade. She measured Harry with a look when he jumped to protest - being at the Manor didn’t mean Malfoy couldn’t just floo to Hogsmeade! - and said that this information was confirmed by Snape. Harry was indignant. Snape wasn’t to be trusted! He probably aided Malfoy in whatever plot he’s creating. Snape was a Death Eater! He and Draco both were! How could the others in the Order be so blind?

When the trio was let go, Harry started speculating on the reasons Malfoy had to bring the necklace to Hogwarts. Ron and Hermione wouldn’t listen to his very articulate _facts_. Yes, not _theories_ , but facts! Harry was alone in his suspicions. Well, he’ll prove them all wrong. Malfoy was up to something, and Harry was going to find out what.

***

For Draco, the Sunday morning started with an acute coldness. The sky was bright and sunny, but the sun was too far, its light piercing with precision. The air was very still. Everything felt devoid of life, unmoving. Like the centre of a hurricane, a spot without any wind. Draco pulled off the covers and got ready for the day. The day of the report.

He stood in the drawing room with his mother. Green flames crackled in the fireplace. The floo would activate any second now. Draco couldn’t look away from the fire. The sound of it was almost like laughter. It mocked him, reprimanded for not being fast enough with his task. For not being thorough enough. For being a failure. So what if he brought two muggles yesterday? He was also assaulted by one. And Draco lost. To a muggle! He won’t be able to kill Dumbledore if just a single muggle could apprehend him. He was humiliated. 

The fires roared upwards, and a stack of bones covered in black robes stepped in. Red eyes swept around the room. Draco made sure to avoid eye contact.

“My Lord,” Narcissa sat on one knee. Draco hastily joined her. “We welcome you with open arms to the Malfoy Manor.”

“Rise,” hearing the Dark Lord’s voice was like the hurricane finally swept everything away. No longer standing in the eye of it, the false calmness gave way to turbulent chaos.

Bellatrix rushed into the room, bowing immediately. “My Lord! If you may follow me, we arranged a room for you.”

The Dark Lord went out of the room after Bellatrix. Draco more felt than understood, but the wind of the hurricane was getting stronger. He and Narcissa waited in the drawing room for hours. The youngest Malfoy looked out to the front yard. Trees pierced the sky with their pointy twigs, trying to tear it apart. There still wasn’t a single cloud. Such a mockery for the storm that was going on inside the house. 

At last, Draco was summoned. Narcissa cupped his face, wished him luck. Her eyes were just like the sky, steady but cold. She was likely trying to pass some determination in them to her son, but none went over. Draco stood alone in an inner corridor. Shadows wrapped themselves around him. He knocked on the door.

“Come in,” the door opens, and Draco is thrashing in the hurricane.

All the curtains were closed. The only light came from candles placed around sporadically. Red eyes gleamed from the centre of the room. Draco didn’t dare look at them. He dropped on his knee, murmuring _My Lord_. How he even found the strength to speak is beyond him. Aunt Bella was standing to the side, smiling like a maniac and a child at the same time. The Dark Lord spoke.

“Draco Malfoy,” the boy didn’t think his name could sound any more foreign than this. “How is your progress? From what I heard, the old man is still alive.”

Draco cleared his throat. “He is, but not for long. I arranged delivery of a cursed necklace to him. One touch - and Dumbledore is gone.”

“Oh? And when is he receiving it?”

“Tonight, My Lord,” please let this be enough for him.

“Mhm,” the Dark Lord seemed pleased. At least Draco hoped so. “Look into my eyes and show me what you did.”

Oh no. He wasn’t pleased. Draco wanted to just burn and melt his eyelids into each other. That way, no one would ask him to open his eyes ever again. The lessons of occlumency with Bellatrix were bad enough, how was he supposed to protect his mind against the Dark Lord? Nevertheless, Draco put up his shields and lifted his head.

He felt as if a dagger was pressed to his forehead. It was cutting off his scalp, inch by inch. The skin was coming off, and soon it will start at his skull, too… The feeling suddenly stopped. Draco was heaving, gasping for breath.

“My dear Death Eater. You should be more loyal. Such obvious occlumency when I _ordered you_ to show me your mind,” the Dark Lord almost sounded gentle, but his next words were void of empathy. “Put down your barriers.”

Draco was vaguely aware that he didn’t have much to hide from his master. He hadn’t been planning treason, nor had he any secret relationships. But sharing your thoughts with someone was too intimate. It was so unbearable to open his mind to be probed and examined. The Dark Lord probably saw the hesitation in his eyes. Draco couldn’t show weakness. He needed to prove himself an honourable Malfoy. He slowly dismantled his shields. 

This time, it felt like being prickled by light rain. It wasn’t soothing in the slightest, but it wasn’t painful at least. Soon, memories started floating in Draco’s eyes. He saw himself working on the cabinet. He saw sleepless nights spent on deciphering the ancient runes. An image of him reading about the necklace, of him buying it, of him waiting for a letter from Borgin. But then - he was reading the letter inviting him to the Manor. His mind jumped from that to an image of two muggles in an alley. Draco remembered the confusion, the wonder. He knew the Dark Lord registered his feelings. But he couldn’t just stop. Other memories from yesterday night started surfacing: him unconscious, a muggle robbing him. Embarrassment. Shame. The Dark Lord knew what happened now. He knew Draco got knocked out by a mere muggle. Memories got thrown back into his mind, red eyes staring at him in disgust.

===

_“Legilimency and Occlumency for Beginners: What to Conceal and What to Let Go”_

_by Eliza Winters, written in 1989_

**How to read emotions with legilimency?**

Now that we’ve learned how to discern memories from thoughts, it’s time to learn how to read emotions. For this, we’ll need to understand the inner workings of the brain.

Memories and prominent thoughts leave footprints all over the brain. So when you first enter a mind without a coherent shape, the legilimens spell is anchored by those footprints. Emotions, however, don’t leave anything to observe. They are all happening at the moment, right now.

So if you are looking at emotions, you will only see the current state of things. It is possible to concentrate on some memories of the participant, looking for any emotions the memory will invoke. But emotions are fickle and subject to change, so it’s not very reliable.

Another way to see if the participant had any strong emotions is to look at the completeness of the memory in question. If the memory has a lot of details, then the participant was experiencing strong emotions when the memory happened. Neutral memories tend to be blurry and only focus on a few things.

Overall, reading emotions is quite difficult and not always straightforward. In this beginner’s guide, we won’t be discussing this aspect of legilimency further.

===

Draco failed. Simple as that. And the Dark Lord hasn’t been known to forgive easily, if at all. Draco broke the eye contact, looking intensely on the floor.

“A muggle defeated you. How do you still call yourself a pureblood?” said the half-snake, half-human. Bellatrix’s head snapped in his direction. So she didn’t know about what happened. 

“I have no excuses, My Lord,” oh, but Draco had excuses. For example, how could he anticipate a muggle using that convoluted see-reenge? How was he to defend against it, anyway? Wear an armour, so that a needle wouldn’t pierce it? Unfair, unfair, this was so unfair!

“At least you understand your wrongs,” the Dark Lord was back to being gentle again. “I felt your shame. It’s a step in the right direction,” he paused. Draco waited. “Although, you still need a little push to become a better follower. _Crucio_.”

The boy didn’t even have the time to react. His hands clamped in fists, and unbearable pain started coursing through his body. He thought he was being burnt alive. But at the same time, he felt like there were a thousand threads knit into him along his limbs, and those threads were being pulled at. It was impossible to unclench his hands, and he was coming short of breath. The world turned to black. Draco thought that this is it, he’s done for. 

When the pain stopped, young Malfoy truly believed that was because he passed onto the afterlife. But when he opened his eyes, he met those red ones.

“That’s your lesson for today. Bellatrix, lead him away.”

Draco was dragged up by his aunt. Her eyes were open wide - too much, perhaps - and she zeroed in on her nephew. As she led him to his room, she whispered:

“Learn to control your screams. You are a descendant of the Most Noble House of Black, not a pig led for slaughter.”

Only then Draco noticed tear stains on his face and hoarseness of his throat. 

***

Mondays were never a fun type of day. Especially if you were under a cruciatus curse the day before. When Draco came back to his room that afternoon, Narcissa was already waiting for him. She jumped from her seat and collected him from Bella. The sisters argued about _sons_ and _honour_ and _loyalty_ for some time. Considering how much aunt Bella values those three things, she probably should have been sorted into Hufflepuff. Draco would have laughed if only all his muscles didn’t feel like he went through a kilometre-long obstacle course. Mother ushered him through the floo to Hogwarts, with promises that Snape will help him recover.

Severus was sitting in front of the fireplace in his office, reading an academic magazine when Draco stepped through the flames on wobbly feet. He offered the boy a seat and then brought him healing potions. The professor probably has seen the aftereffects of a cruciatus many times before. No, not probably. Definitely. Draco gulped down the potions with fervour. One of them must have been a vial of Dreamless Sleep because he fell asleep right on his Head of House’s sofa.

When Draco woke up, he saw Severus sitting at his desk, sifting through student’s essays and his personal potion recipes. 

“What time is it?” Draco asked, yawning.

“I see you’re finally awake,” came a familiar drawl. “How are you feeling?” Oh, so Draco’s question is going to be ignored. Well, nothing new. He decided to just go along with Severus this time.

“I’m alright, I guess. I don’t feel sore or in pain.”

“Good,” the professor measured Draco with a stare. “You’re lucky to have left the Manor early yesterday. If the Dark Lord got wind of your stupid plan with that piece of jewellery while you were still there, he would have tortured you for much longer.”

Draco stilled. “What do you mean?” But he knew the answer. It could only mean that the plan failed.

“Your plan failed,” of fucking course it did. “Soon after I administered you the potions, McGonagall asked for me. A student by the name Katie Bell was “cursed”, as most of the faculty believed. Obviously, I knew what the necklace actually did, so I was able to prevent permanent damage to the girl’s magical core. What were you thinking, Draco?” 

“It’s that bastard Borgin! I told him to wrap the necklace carefully. I gave Rosmerta an order to wrap it even more. How-” he sighed. “This was supposed to work.”

“Well, it didn’t. Truly, Draco, could you be even more obvious about your task? Why don’t you just cast a killing curse in the Great Hall? At least it would’ve been more adequate than an overcomplicated scheme you came up with.”

This was too much for the boy. First, he was mugged by a _muggle_. Then, he was punished by the Dark Lord for it. Now, his plan went down the drain and his mentor was scolding him. 

Severus sighed. “Draco, you know I would help you. You just need to ask. I don’t appreciate that you don’t fill me in on your going-ons. Don’t you understand that that’s why the Dark Lord summoned you? If you don’t tell me your plans, I can’t make a proper report for him. Do you really want to meet You-Know-Who again after yesterday?”

No, he didn’t want to see those red eyes again. He didn’t want to be examined inside and out. His mind was _his_ , not a public domain for anyone to ramshackle in it. It was weird, he thought, that he cared much more about his mind being invaded than the fact that the Dark Lord used an unforgivable on him. It still felt unreal - for Draco, an heir to the Malfoy name - to be treated with such disdain. It was like it didn’t happen, or rather, not to him. Draco could’ve been standing next to his aunt in that dimly lit room, and the one collapsed on the floor could’ve been someone else. To grapple with the fact that it was indeed him lying on the floor was impossible. So, Draco concentrated on the legilimency part of the encounter with his master.

“Severus, did the Dark Lord ever ask you to remove your occlumency barriers?” The head of the Slytherin house was the most accomplished occlumens Draco knew. But what did occlumency matter in the face of a… _creature_ who would threaten to kill you if you put any barriers in your mind?

“He did,” Severus narrowed his eyes. He thought of what to say next for a minute or two. Draco was starting to get impatient for a further explanation. “But after using occlumency for as long as me, some shields just take root in the mind, and cannot be taken down.”

Draco nodded. Not an option for him, then. This arrogant Dark Lord (easy to think him arrogant when he’s not around) violated his mind with legilimency. Draco doesn't trust that he can keep his memories to himself anymore. What a chilling thought. Was his mind even his? He felt the need to take a brush and scrape all of his brains and skull clean. He needed something more effective than occlumency. A way to protect his memories… Memory charms! Of course. If you erase your memory, no legilimens can see it. Ha! How simple. But then again, if the memory’s gone, how do you remember what you did? Severus startled Draco from his thoughts.

“Breakfast will begin in an hour and a half. You have time to prepare for the day. I suggest you go to your dormitory,” he said. Draco could’ve sworn he saw a shadow of care and worry on his mentor’s face. But he wouldn’t bet on it.

“Thanks for the potions, professor.” 

“Anytime,” Severus turned back to the essays, and Draco made his way to the door. “And Draco,” he halted. “Don’t forget I’m here to help.”

“Then… can you get me some rare books on memory charms?”

“I’ll see what I can find.”

“Alright then,” having said that, Draco stepped out of the office.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little theatre:
> 
> Harry: I'm watching you.  
> Draco: I'm more worried that the Dark Lord is watching me.


	3. What is real?

Harry was barrelling down the stairs to a potions classroom. All the respect he had for the headmaster dissipated on mornings such as this one. Putting Potions on a Monday morning was bonkers! Slughorn always says that _the early bird gets the flobberworm._ Harry was doing just fine _without_ flobberworms for breakfast. But his stomach was a traitor and growled at Harry. _Why didn’t you feed me, Harry?_ it would ask, and he would answer: _I was too busy thinking about Malfoy at night, so I ended up oversleeping and missing breakfast_. And wasn’t it weird, thinking about the Slytherin at night? Maybe it was, but Harry told himself that uncovering the other’s evil plans was more important than worrying about the words he used while talking to his stomach of all things.

As he entered the classroom, Slughorn welcomed him in, only taking one point from Gryffindor for his tardiness. Harry moved to sit with Ron and Hermione. But as he passed the desks, his attention inadvertently snapped to Malfoy. He sat with his Slytherins, head bowed over the parchment. He was scribbling something very intently and didn’t pay any attention to what their professor was saying. All of the lesson Harry kept casting glances at Malfoy, but the other boy didn’t look at him even once. Even when Harry made a perfect potion - thanks to the Prince’s notes - and Slughorn was showering him with praise, even then Malfoy was still engrossed in his parchments. It stung Harry. Certainly, Malfoy was plotting something. Why else would he be so focused? Too focused to even throw a jab at Harry! Oh, it would soon be time when all his plots came to light. Harry was sure of it. 

Unfortunately, Harry wasn’t able to follow Malfoy anywhere after the lessons because of quidditch practice. Ever since Ron joined the team, playing has become much more fun. And as Harry was captain, he allowed for practice to be more relaxed than it was in previous years. 

Absence of Katie was glaring. They replaced her with Dean Thomas, but every time Harry caught him flying out the corner of his eye, he thought of the white skies and a screaming girl. He promised to himself, he would find proof that Malfoy was responsible.

***

While Gryffindors were soaring through the skies, Draco was on his way to the Room of Requirement. He didn’t have the patience to wait for Vince and Greg to join him, so he was alone. He was hoping that he restored the runic text correctly this time. He needed to check if at least some of the damaged charms on the cabinet would give way. 

Almost all evening was spent trying to make the vanishing cabinet work. As time was nearing curfew, Draco thought about spending the night in the room. Why not? It wasn’t like Filch would find him in a room with a disappearing door. Concluding it was a great idea, he continued to read runes and tinker. 

After a while, a warm glow appeared around him. Huh. The room was nice enough to light him some long-forgotten oil lamps. Then, more time passed, and even a bed appeared to the side. When Draco noticed the bed, he took out his watch. It was already half-past three in the morning. He should go to sleep. But his eyes were drawn to the inner side of the watch’s lid: to the engraved message under an image of his constellation. _Shine bright like the stars, Little Dragon - Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy to Draco Malfoy._ As he caressed the etched words with his fingers, the watch glowed slowly. From the stars of the constellation, specks of light flew out and circled a few times around his hand. A very nice charm. It always soothed Draco. When he went to sleep, for a moment he forgot all his worries. He forgot that his watch almost got stolen, that the Dark Lord was angry with him, that his mind wasn’t his own and that he screamed like a pig, according to aunt Bellatrix. And at that moment he fell asleep.

Next morning, Draco almost missed breakfast. Usually, Greg would wake him up, but alas, he is in the Room of Hidden Things, and Gregory is in the dormitory. But good things could be found anywhere: the Slytherin hadn’t slept so fitfully in a long time. The cabinet stood in front of him as if saying _good morning_ , and truly, the morning was actually good. Draco patted the cabinet, resigning himself to get back to it again in the evening. 

The Great Hall was already packed with the student body when Draco came in. Students around him were already reading the Prophet; some were excited over letters from their family. This almost made him lose his appetite; he remembered all the anxiousness he felt while waiting for a letter from Borgin. And what for? He lost so many nerves on a plan that was never going to work. 

Draco took a seat next to Pansy. _To Morgana with it all_ , he thought, _no matter if I’m nauseous, I’m eating a grand breakfast today_. He packed his plate with a variety of foods. Pansy looked askance at him.

“Gregory, is that you? Did you polyjuice into Draco?” She then turned to Goyle, as if trying to discern if he is, in reality, Draco in disguise.

Goyle looked up from his plate. “No, I didn’t,” he said, a bit miffed that Pansy somehow didn’t recognise him as him. 

“Hmm, how can I believe you?” Pansy smirked playfully. “What does Gregory know that Draco doesn’t?” 

Greg smiled right back and passed her a pudding with peaches.

“My favourite, thank you,” she was smiling even more now.

Draco blinked at his friends, appalled by these recent developments. Since when did Greg track what Pansy likes to eat? And the smiles - they were genuine! Not devious, not knowing smiles, but real ones. 

He was entranced as he watched his peers. Before Draco could take a single bite out of his giant pile of food, an eagle owl made his way to him. As it sat in front of him, it snatched some sausages from his plate. The letter it brought was from the Manor. Draco didn’t want to open it. He knew that the Dark Lord would learn of his failure with the necklace. If before, Draco could deny having anything to do with it, then now, after the Dark Lord read his mind, it was impossible to do. Severus probably had told their master what had happened. Professor Snape wasn’t at the teacher’s table, so he must be in the dungeons. Putting away the letter, Draco stood up and left the Great Hall. His classmates were surprised but were ultimately already used to his breakfast antics, so no one stopped him.

The letter laid heavily in his pocket. Draco didn’t trust himself not to have an emotional outburst when he read it, so he strode back towards the Room of Hidden Things. But just as he was moving up, he saw Potter and his misfit band going to the Great Hall. Draco was alone and in no mood for a shouting match with his rival. He made a turn to a side corridor and slipped behind a random door. 

The room he found himself in was a loo. A lavish one, at that: it had some fancy sinks and quite a lot of toilet stalls. Despite that, the bathroom was dusty and the air was stale, some of the tiles were broken. The lavatory seemed devoid of people. _Another hideout_ , Draco thought. Suddenly, climbing five more flights of stairs to read a letter in private became a foolish idea. Draco went into one of the stalls and took out the message. 

===

Draco,

It would’ve been better if you were a wankstain on your father's boots instead of being born. I will be forever upset that Cissy and her sluggard of a husband conceived you. 

You know what He thinks of failure. You know, and still, you failed. Utterly useless, is what you are. If you want for your mother to stay in living condition, work better! If I were her, I would’ve disinherited you. Cissy received punishment in your stead, so be grateful! A sprig like you would break under such a prolonged _cruel_ curse. You know which one. Remember this lesson, Draco, and repent to Him.

That aside, you are, again, invited to the Manor on your next Hogsmeade weekend. Make some progress, lest you disappoint everyone once more.

Bx

===

Draco stopped reading when he got to the punishment part. Cruel curse - that could only be cruciatus. A prolonged one? How long does she mean? Did the Dark Lord use a cruciatus on his _mother?_ No, surely it was a hoax, he wouldn’t dare. Narcissa was honourable, she was a _pureblood_. There was no way the Dark Lord would torture her. 

Draco convinced himself that Bella just sent him empty threats to make him more productive. So, he read on. The invitation to the Manor only confirmed Draco’s beliefs: it was just a ruse. The Dark Lord wouldn’t use _crucio_ on a _pureblood_ , surely. But then again, he did use it on Draco, did he not? Doubt started creeping in his mind, but he repelled it before it took root.

When the boy opened the stall, he was greeted by a cold hand waving in front of him. He held his breath and looked at the owner of the hand. A high-pitched voice echoed through the lavatory:

“O-o-oh, finally someone visits me!” A ghost of a girl swirled her robes playfully. “No one comes here anymore,” she pouted. “I am so pitiful and so lo-o-onely!” She flew towards the sink and laid upon it; her hand dramatically covered her forehead. 

Draco was unamused, he didn't have time for attention-craving anyone - be it a living person or a ghost - so he made his way out of the dilapidated loo. Just when he reached for the door, the ghost girl went right through his body - _rude,_ he thought - and turned to face him.

“No, don’t go! Please, stay!” she batted her eyelashes at him.

“Go haunt someone else!” Draco said as he barged through the door. The ghost girl didn’t follow, to his relief.

Still, even though there was a ghost, no one else seemed to frequent the bathroom. That girl even said so herself: no one visited her. So, in Draco’s mind, this room was approved as _another hideout_. Perhaps, he could work on some runes and forbidden books there if he felt too tired to trudge up to the seventh floor.

Later in the day, Draco couldn’t bring himself to go to the Room of Requirement. If he went, he would only be reminded of all of his failures. He didn’t manage to get the cabinet to work yet, did he? Will he ever? The vanishing cabinet was a foe Draco wasn’t prepared to face. This avoidance of his responsibilities to the Dark Lord continued for a few more days.

During that time, Draco noticed Severus casting him suspicious glances. Did the professor know that he wasn’t working on the cabinet? The boy started worrying that he was being watched. Severus undoubtedly reported his lassitude to the Dark Lord. All became clear when Draco was stopped by the professor on his way to the Slytherin common room.

“Mr Malfoy,” said Snape. “If you would follow me to my office?”

Draco nodded and fell into step after his teacher. Clicking the door shut, Severus made his way to a pair of lounge chairs and a sofa. He tapped his wand on the coffee table, and a tea set appeared.

“It’s chamomile,” Severus drawled as he picked a cup. “Supposed to calm you down,” he gestured to the sofa, and Draco took a seat.

“Why did you ask me here, professor?” The boy was mistrustful, he wasn’t ready to go back to work on the task. He couldn’t do it, not yet. If only he had more time...

“I was wondering how well you were handling the news of Narcissa’s punishment. It is my understanding that Bellatrix informed you of it?” Severus’ face remained impassive, his voice was devoid of emotion. Draco had already learned that those are sure signs Snape is using occlumency.

“Do you mean my aunt’s taunts? She dared to lie that my mother was under cruciatus,” Draco paused, waiting for his professor’s reaction. Even though the boy knew that the Dark Lord wouldn’t torture purebloods - that would go against everything he preaches - Draco still had a small prickle of doubt in a corner of his mind.

“That was no taunt,” Snape hissed. “I barely managed to persuade our Master to administer her healing potions. I trust that you remember your own experience, so you should understand what would’ve happened if she wasn’t healed.”

The words went over Draco’s head. It couldn’t be. It could _not_. It was easy to dismiss aunt Bella’s words, but if Severus also says that his mother was tortured… No, no, no. Impossible. The thought that it was real, that the Dark Lord really did _that_ , was hovering around in Draco’s mind, but it couldn’t quite settle.

Draco took a large sip of tea. What was he supposed to say? _Severus, you lie to me!_ But his teacher isn’t the type to lie. To conceal the truth, to manipulate - yes, but not outright lie. And if it wasn’t a lie, then what was it? Draco met Snape’s eyes; the older man was watching intently. It was apparent that Severus was waiting for him to say something.

“The Dark Lord wouldn’t torture purebloods,” Draco managed to put these words out.

“He tortured you, did he not?” Snape said.

And that’s when Draco knew. He knew it was true - all of it. He also knew that this conversation would be seen by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, either by viewing Draco’s mind or Severus’. Everything he says in front of his teacher must be to the Dark Lord’s liking. He can’t give him any more excuses to use cruciatus on his family. Draco needed to research memory charms, and soon. The Dark Lord won’t be able to read his mind; he wouldn’t let him. If it meant that he had to forget, then so be it. The boy measured his next words.

“I understand. I am continuing my work on the vanishing cabinet, and I will double my efforts. Thank you for the tea, professor,” Draco stood up.

"Do you remember what I told you?" Severus rushed to say. "You can always come to me for help, Draco. Believe me, I _want_ to help you."

Of course Severus wanted to help. If he did, it would earn him respect from the Dark Lord. A half-blood would need every ounce of it in the Death Eater circles. Except, would it really? It seemed the blood status didn't matter as much after all. It didn't protect either him or his mother from cruciatus.

Getting no answer from Draco, Severus sighed.

“I found the book you asked for. Here,” He went to his desk and pulled out a small but thick book from one of the drawers. 

Smart of Severus. First, to tell Draco he was helpful, and then to prove it by deeds. Maybe the boy _should_ trust his professor more. But that was a thought for later, for now, he should concentrate on the cabinet and memory charms.

Thus, Draco accepted the book and said goodbyes to his professor. 

Hogwarts’ dungeons were getting colder by the day. In the Slytherin common room, Vincent and Greg were attempting to do homework in one corner. Pansy was there too, explaining some material to the boys. Draco flopped into an armchair near them.

“Draco,” Goyle turned up with a smile.

“Oh, darling, there you are!” said Pansy.

Draco forced a smile at them, afraid to say anything. After all, if he couldn’t figure out a way to alter his memory, any conversation he had could be extracted from his mind. Even if it seemed unlikely that the Dark Lord would try and look at children's interactions, Draco didn't want to risk it.

Crabbe didn’t greet Draco. In fact, he was looking rather disgusted with the blonde. When their eyes met, Vincent grumbled under his nose and turned back to his parchment. Draco was in no mood to find out what one of his cronies was dissatisfied with. 

Pansy resumed her explanations. Greg’s eyes sparkled at her, while he was listening intently. 

To repel the growing fears of his mind being invaded, Draco opened the book Severus gave him. The pages were yellow, and the spine was covered in wrinkles. 

===

_“Like a Flower, the Memory is Fading”_

_by Jemima Goldstein, written in 1942_

**Types of memory**

Memory categorisation is a subject of many wizarding debates. Some say it should be categorised by the senses linked to the memory - be it a sight, a smell or a noise ( _Memory Sense_ , by Javier Charleson). Others differentiate memory in groups of “happenings” and “concepts” _Damaged Memory and Repairment Techniques_ , by Mary Svevo). Then there is the so-called “occlumency categorisation” which organises memories in groups of “hidden”, “surface” and “core foundation” ( _Occlumency Treatment for Amnesiacs_ , by Jack Starks).

The theory presented in this book will be based on categorisation as such: long-term memory (which includes concepts, skills and happenings) and short-term memory. Concepts are the things people recognise: like someone knows that apple is a fruit, that smile is a sign of friendliness, etc. Skills are considered a memory when the process of doing a skill becomes mostly automatic. For example, a musician doesn’t think where to place their fingers, they think about the melody as a whole. Happenings are situations and events that were important to the person in question. Lastly, short-term memory represents all of the above, but its distinguishing characteristic is that short-term memory is easy to forget - hence the name “short-term”.

[...]

===

Draco scoffed: he understood why this book was rare. No one would read this stupidity. And what was the name of this book? It didn’t elaborate on any topics the book discusses, and overall sounds more like someone would name a fiction novel instead of a somewhat scientific book. Nonetheless, the author - Jemima Goldstein - rang some bells in Draco’s head, even though he couldn’t remember where he heard it. 

_Occlumency Treatment for Amnesiacs,_ now that was a book Draco should be reading. It would probably serve better to his purposes of erasing his memories and becoming amnesiac himself. And occlumency was a familiar subject to him as well. But it was evening, and Draco was tired, so he didn't have much strength to go and look for this book in the library. Having little choice, he decided to continue reading. 

===

[...]

This categorisation is being spoken about in the neurological muggle circles, although they didn’t present an official thesis yet. Muggle findings are often looked upon in the wizarding world. Still, even if the work before you takes some foundations in muggle research, new insights on memory magic as well as novel spells are provided.

===

Well, that explains a lot. So this book doesn’t just have an obscure name, it is also based on _muggle_ research. Ugh. How did Severus even find it? Why would Draco even deign to read past this pathetic preview? He was compelled to throw this block of paper in his hands into the fire. 

But at the thought of muggles, he remembered the one that tried to rob him. That muggle used a sort of weapon a wizard wouldn’t anticipate. Perhaps, this book could also lend Draco knowledge that other wizards were unaware of. And wasn’t it exactly what he wanted? Memory charms that even the Dark Lord wouldn’t notice. Certainly, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has never touched a book such as this.

Having come to such a conclusion, Draco flipped to the book’s list of contents. _Consequences of Memory Alteration, Forgetfulness,_ etc… It all seemed important, but another chapter, _Storage of Happenings and Skills (long-term memory),_ caught the boy’s eyes. Long-term memory was supposed to be a muggle word. So, it surely contained intriguing information.

===

_“Like a Flower, the Memory is Fading”_

_by Jemima Goldstein, written in 1942_

**Storage of Happenings and Skills (long-term memory)**

Happenings and skills - or as muggles call it, long-term memory - are stored in the space between neurons, on the dendrites. Dendrites (along with axons) are bridges which connect neurons and are used to send information. 

The thing important to this research aren’t dendrites themselves, but dendritic spines. If a new experience is learned, it forms a dendritic spine somewhere in the brain. Once this experience is repeated, the dendritic spine strengthens. So, these spines construct most of our long-term memory. 

A close study of legilimency was conducted as a part of writing this book. I and a group of associates used a scanner-spell ( _pervidere fabricae_ ; see p. 127) on the brain to see the effect legilimency has on dendritic spines. Spanning almost one hundred subjects, we have made some revelations. 

The mind-reading spell depends heavily on enveloping dendrites in magic. While it does that, another part of the spell provides a reading for the caster. As it turns out, memories cannot be passed from one person to another without interpretation. So each time a legilimens looks at a memory, or when a memory is extracted for a pensieve, the said memory is coated in an additional layer of translation magic. 

Thus, the study did not only provide us with proof that dendritic spines are a necessity for legilimency. It also showed that memories cannot be read without a translation layer.

===

Even more muggle terminology. Dendrites, axons, dendritic spines… that was too much new information in just a few pages. 

But some things shouldn't be put aside. To read memories, one needs an extra layer of magic. That was a beneficial bit of information.

Disrupting Draco’s already feeble concentration, Pansy smacked her textbook closed.

“All done! See? Divination isn’t that bad,” she said and smiled at the boys.

“Argh, all these prophecies don’t make sense,” Greg groused as he plopped his head on the table. 

Vince looked nonplussed; he was leisurely scrolling up his parchments.

“Oh, but I bet Draco’s father knows a lot about prophecies,” Vince muttered. “He even managed to get one for the Dark Lord,” He was looking at Draco menacingly. Draco looked back at him, schooling his impression. “Oh wait, he didn’t.”

Draco jumped from his seat. “Don’t you dare.”

“Ha, what are you going to do about it?” Vince drawled. “You talk and talk about your _important mission,_ but we all know you’re a failure,” Crabbe stepped up to face Draco.

Draco whipped out his wand. “Don’t. You. Dare.” Vince backed down a bit at the sight of the wand. “You don’t _know_ what you’re talking about,” Draco hissed.

At this, Vince sneered. “I know a lot. I know _you_ failed and your _mum_ got punished for it.”

Draco snapped. “ _Pullus diutine!_ ” A purple light shot out of his wand. 

Vince tried to duck, but the light circled around him; his nose hardened and became pointy, clothes turned to feathers, his height was now just up to someone’s calf. The only part that remained unchanged was his round eyes, now filled with horror. 

When he tried to speak, he could only cluck. 

Vincent Crabbe was reduced to a mere chicken.

But Draco was still fuming. He kicked at the chicken, hurtling it at the wall. 

Vincent, once he was back on his feet, spread his wings in indignation. He wanted to fly up and attack Draco with his newfound claws but was kicked again. He crashed into a wall with a smash.

“Stop it!” Pansy shouted. Another kick.

“Draco, he’s had enough,” Greg said. 

_No_ , thought Draco. Kick. _Once more._ He raised his leg, but Greg dragged him away from the shivering bird.

“Let go of me!” Draco struggled in Greg’s grip.

“Only if you won’t kick him again.”

“I can’t guarantee that,” he scoffed, but he stopped struggling.

Greg slowly let him go. “How long is he going to stay like this?” Greg looked at Vince with a mix of pity and loathing. 

“He said _diutine,_ Greg,” Pansy murmured. “So, probably for a week.” 

“That’s what he deserves for insulting my family,” Draco said with venom.

Greg looked at him and nodded solemnly. Pansy just sighed.

“Well, good luck with your chicken coop. I’m retiring to my rooms. Sweet dreams, Greg,” she smiled.

“You too, Pansy,” Greg blushed.

Wait- Greg blushed?! Now that was interesting. If Draco had more energy, he definitely would ask Gregory for an explanation. But alas, right now, he couldn’t care less.

“I’m going to go to sleep as well,” Draco said. “Should we put Vince in a cage for the night? I don’t want our dormitory to be filled with bird faeces in the morning.”

Greg chuckled. “Sounds like a good idea.”

At this, Vincent flapped his wings angrily and settled near the fireplace, seemingly intent on spending his night in the common room. All the better for them, then.

That night, Draco almost didn’t have any nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little theatre:
> 
> Harry: I joined the no-breakfast club.  
> Draco: Dear readers, please be more conscious of your diet than us.
> 
> Author: Please if you are a neuroscientist or a neurologist and note anything very very incorrect about the descriptions I used, don't hesitate to correct me in the comments! Although also please remember I'm taking some liberties in explanations because ~magic~ :D


End file.
